


Is Happiness Even Possible?

by ERL33



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Circus, F/M, FIx It, Family Feels, Mutual Pining, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Pining, Wedding Planning, Weddings, all I know are fix its, phillip's parents aren't dicks, proposal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-03-05 20:04:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13395264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ERL33/pseuds/ERL33
Summary: Anne had never thought she would ever be happy.Content? Perhaps.Comfortable? Not likely.But happy? No, true happiness wasn't in the cards for a woman like her.*********In which Anne makes a friend, Philip receives a gift he didn't even know he could ask for, and the world becomes a little bit brighter by the rearrangement of a few stars.





	1. Chapter 1

Anne had never thought she would ever be happy.

Content? Perhaps.

Comfortable? Not likely.

But happy? No, true happiness wasn't in the cards for a woman like her. She had accepted that fact when she was very young. The day she and her brother buried both of their parents after an accident on the railroad. Happiness was a fairy tale that she knew better than to believe in.

Yet, against all the odds, here she was. She had work she adored with friends who had become family. She had a home and she had her brother close by, but not so close that she wanted to throttle him as any younger sister was sometimes want to do.

Mostly, though, she had Philip. That a man so wonderful, so charismatic and kind, had fallen in love with her was like a story dreamt up by the greatest showman himself. She had fallen for disgraced aristocrat despite fighting her feelings. It had been a terrifying, gut wrenching drop but when he caught her… well, the best way she could describe it was that it felt like the most perfect catch when falling from the highest trapeze. When she faked a grab and the whole crowd gasped and jumped to their feet as she dropped bonelessly towards the ground only to be snatched from midair. The roaring in her chest every time they kissed felt kind of like the roar of the crowd, actually.

As she watched her love warm up the crowd before the show started from the entrance of the tent, she couldn’t help but sigh with utter contentment. Tuesdays were her nights off. They had brought on more and more people since setting up in the field by the docks. So many, in fact, that Barnum had suggested doing discounted nights so that the rookies could practice in front of a smaller crowd with smaller tricks. The crowds wouldn’t expect the biggest show on a Tuesday and it helped nip the new people’s stage fright in the bud.

If she were being honest, Anna would admit she had started enjoying teaching the trapeze students who flocked to the circus almost more than performing nowadays. Seeing her little underlings grow in skill and confidence was almost more of a rush than doing a backflip off a rafter. It was pride and amazement all rolled together in a happy bubble in her chest.

A little bubble that popped as someone tried to push past her into the tent. He murmured an unintelligible apology as he drew his bowler hat down farther over his face. Fire burned in her chest as her temper flared. She was used to being pushed around by thuggish dock workers and city men alike outside of the circus but not here, not anymore. She grabbed him, dragging around him around by the collar to shove him into one of the strong beams supporting the tent on the outside. She glared at him and hissed,

“You thugs weren’t welcome here before and you sure as hell aren’t welcome here now. Leave,” her rough voice was so icy that the man actually shivered under her hand. He took off the hat and her eyes met his familiar and yet foreign blue ones.

“I assure you, Miss, I am not a thug. Though I understand why I would not be welcome here. I apologize for bumping you. It was unintentional.” He said, meeting her look for look. Though his was quite a bit more contrite. She took two steps back. Now she was the one shaking.

“Mr. Carlyle! I- what are you doing here?” she gasped, her mind racing. She had grabbed and threatened a man of status. A white man of status. He could have her thrown in prison. He could-

“I am here, Ms. Wheeler, to see my son perform.” He said coolly. She just gaped at him. “Are you well, Ms. Wheeler?”

“I… I don’t know. You want to see his act?” she clarified, not sure she had heard him correctly. He nodded.

“Yes. It is Tuesday. My wife goes to her book club on Tuesday evenings. She thinks I am at the gentleman’s club on 5th street. They think I am at the gentleman’s club on Broadway. And they think I am having an affair so they will lie 6 ways from Sunday for me, in the case anyone comes asking questions. And there is a boy keeping watch at the latter club to come and fetch me if anyone shows up. I have this secrecy business rather well in hand, you see.” He told her, sounding a little smug. She regained her composure as he spoke.

“Sounds like you are wasting the perfectly good setup to actually have an affair,” she commented. He shrugged.

“Ah, but you see, this isn’t a waste at all. This is the closest I can be to my son anymore. So, I’ll go to whatever lengths it takes to keep this up.” He told her.

“Does he know you’re here?” she asked. She figured that if he knew, Philip would have told her. He told her everything. Too much sometimes but he hadn’t quite been able to overcome all of his highborn habits. And gossip wasn’t just a highborn quality. But Mr. Carlyle was shaking his head.

“No, no. Of course not. He has denounced me even more than I have denounced him, I’m sad to say. If he should ever come home, even just for a chat, I’d bend over backward to oblige him… though considering the company he keeps these days, that probably isn’t all that impressive,” he sounded mournful, not mocking. Anne considered him, trying to figure out what his hidden motive for being here was.  “Ah, but anyway, I would welcome him with open arms. But he… hates me now. For the way my wife and I behaved.”

“He doesn’t… hate you,” she offered stiffly. She wasn’t sure what she should say here. He seemed genuine enough. But so had others and the words he had said about her, as if she had not been standing right there, still stung.

The way the older man’s face lit up like a streetlamp catching a flame made her reconsider how much she hated him. Years of age seemed to melt off his face as it softened into a smile.

“That’s what he said but I hardly believed him. He’s still a showman at heart after all.” Carlyle mumbled, as if to himself.

“Barnum knows you’re here?” Anne asked, making a quick guess. Carlyle nodded distractedly.

“He’s the one who gave me the tickets. I went to his home a few weeks ago, when this book club started, and asked if I could attend. I didn’t want to… cause trouble, you see?” he said, an honest to god blush rising on his cheeks. “Barnum gave me a whole stack of tickets without any fuss and said to come as often as I’d like.”

“Well, if Barnum said it was okay, I guess it is,” she said, taking another step back. The man looked longingly at the opening of the tent before letting out an unhappy sigh.

“Young lady, I owe you an apology,” he said after a tense moment. She flinched and pulled her shawl a little tighter around her.

“What for?”

“For this whole mess. For how my wife and I spoke to and about you. We were… horribly unkind. You didn’t deserve that. My son was right to disown us for our behavior.”

“Oh. Um. Okay,” Anne wasn’t sure what she could say to something like that. Carlyle didn’t seem to expect much in the way of an answer. He just looked relieved to get the apology off his chest.

“If you or Philip need anything, please, don’t hesitate to contact me. My wife is still too proud and highbrow to regret her behavior but come to me directly, and I will do what I can to help,” he insisted. She shrugged before nodding stiffly. He sighed, happier than before, and tilted his head toward the entrance. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I would like to at least catch the second act.”

As he started to turn away, she felt a tugging of her heart in a way she couldn’t quite describe. Before she could stop herself, she blurted.

“Mr. Carlyle!” he turned and surveyed her with a curious glance, “Would you like to join me for dinner after the second act? Philip won’t be in til late and I could use the company.”

Where the _hell_ had that offer come from?

“I would be delighted, Ms. Wheeler. Absolutely delighted. Thank you,” he beamed. “Would you like to join me in the tent for the show?” She smiled and shook her head.

“And give the poor man an apoplexy on stage when he sees us sitting amicably next to each other in the stands? Perhaps another time. I need to go prepare dinner.” She chuckled.

“Oh, I could take you to-“

“Sir, I have invited you to my home for a meal. Do you mean to refuse that?” she asked, using the tone that warned rambunctious students that they were entering dangerous territory. His eyes widened as he realized exactly what she was offering. On impulse, he took her hands in his and raised them to his lips. He kissed them as only a perfect gentleman knows how, chaste and yet genuine.

“My lady, I am honored.” He said. She blushed, a deep red tinging her dark skin, and tried to keep her voice steady.

“Meet me by the elephant wagon over there during the encore. He does a lot of spinning during it so he won’t notice you slipping out,” she told the man, tilting her head towards the aforementioned wagons. He nodded, withdrew his hands, and hurried into the tent. She wasn’t sure if she imagined it but he seemed to have more of skip in his step as he disappeared. And then the reality of what had just happened settled on her mind.

She had just offered to make dinner for a high-born man of stature. For the man who had called her shameful and ‘the help’. For Philip’s father. And all she had in the larder was stew. It was plenty for her and Philip but surely the man wasn’t used to such meager fare. She hurried back to their own wagon, hoping desperately that some of her cilantro had magically sprouted and grown in full since she had planted the seeds that morning.

***

“Ms. Wheeler, I was afraid I’d gone to the wrong wagon. Are you all right?” Mr. Carlyle asked as the frazzled young woman rushed up to him between the wagons. She shook her head.

“I’m fine. Just lost track of time. Are you sure you want to come back to-,“ she started to ask but he shook his head, effectively silencing her.

“I would be honored to be welcomed into your home,” he said graciously, trying to assuage her fears. It worked a little but she was still nervous as she nodded and led him back deeper into the property.

Their little wagon was staked among many looking much like it, aside from the outlandish decorations adorning every single one. The one she stopped in front of was subtler in its decorations than most of the others. The door frame was decorated by delicate vines hand carved into the wood and then painted in with paint. Greens for the vines, pinks and blues for the flowers. The rest of the wagon was covered with creepers and plants hanging off window boxes. It looked like a fairy house straight out of a picture book.

“Your home is exquisitely lovely,” he said, admiring it. She shrugged, hiding a smile by ducking her head.

“Please, come in,” she said, leading the way up the three stairs below the door. She carefully kicked off her boots as she stood on the second step before continuing into the wagon in just her stockings. Mr. Carlyle followed her example, earning him a smile from the diminutive young woman. “Thank you. It’s so much easier to keep the inside clean if everyone removes their boots. We actually installed a little pop up shed to keep the boots dry in bad weather so no one can complain about leaving them off before coming in.”

“You keep a tidy household,” he said, looking around at the teeny living space. It smelled like hearth and growing things and dinner, all wrapped in up in cedar. He took a deep breath before staring around him curiously. The bed was up against the front of the carriage, a few bookshelves surrounding it as a round window offered some view of the outside. And beyond it was a mix of living and cooking space. A wood burning stove drove off the night’ chill as it happily began to boil a pot of tea. The round table by the door was not much larger than a trash can lid but it was sturdy and had a few chairs set around it. The other side of the wagon was obviously a makeshift dressing room. Beautiful costumes hung from racks, wigs of all colors and styles rested on mannequins’ heads, and sparkly jewelry glittered from the vanity in the far corner.

“It isn’t much but we make do,” she said, spooning stew into two bowls for their meal as he looked around. When he saw she was struggling with the pot, he reached out and grasped the hot pad on either handle to steady the almost cauldron for her.

“Thank you,” she said softly, finishing the chore before putting the pot back by the stove, lid on top to keep the heat from escaping.

“It’s the least I can do,” the older man said kindly. They took seats on either side of the tiny table. Mr. Carlyle watched her, waiting for something but she couldn’t figure out what.

“Shall we say grace?” she offered, desperate to break the tension. He nodded and smiled. They both bowed their heads and said a quickly, simple mealtime prayer before looking back up at the other. Finally, Mr. Carlyle chuckled.

“My dear, it would be rude of me to start eating before my host,” he offered. Her eyes flared wide in surprise as she realized he was waiting for _her_ to start eating. She shrugged and took the first bite. Carlyle followed suit.

“My god,” he blurted after he swallowed the first bite. Anne looked up, ready to defend her food, but Carlyle looked like a sinner who had just found church. “This is the best soup I have _ever_ had. What on earth is in here?”

Anne chuckled as he proceeded to clear his bowl. He looked around hopefully. She got up and spooned him another bowl full, calculating in her head how many servings she could afford to give away before she and Philip would go hungry at the end of the week. She hated that he had to live like this, counting their pennies and bowls of soup, but he never seemed to mind.

“Onions, leeks, potatoes, vegetable broth base, and roast?” Mr. Carlyle asked as she put the pot back. Her smile was small but real as she nodded.

“That’s what we had left over from the last few weeks. I use spices to gussy it up a little as well,” she told him. He nodded, pleased.

“They must be the finest spices in the world then,” he told her. She wasn’t positive, but he sounded entirely genuine.

“I grow and dry them myself so thank you,” she told him, glancing up into the rafters. He looked up, for the first time realizing that he had far more headspace than he had anticipated. Hanging above him, just overhead, were bunches of plants. They were tied together with twine and hung from the wooden beams. Some were fully green while others were brown and shriveled.

“That is absolutely amazing. And then you bottle them, I suppose?” he asked, head thrown back to admire her work. Anne was sure she was going to remain in a constant state of shock for the rest of the evening. Why else would he want to talk about her plants?

“Yessum,” she replied, digging into her own bowl to avoid… well, she wasn’t sure what she was avoiding. But she was going to try.

“Where did you learn?” he asked, turning back to her. She shrugged.

“My mother always dried her own spices. Seeds are cheap and when you live by the docks, water is plentiful. She had some trouble with how damp the air was but she had Dad build a shed out back. He put in a little wood burning stove and she would burn really dry, hard wood to lower the humidity in there. And hard wood was cheap because it doesn’t burn as high or prettily but it released more heat. So she would chip it up small and put on a piece every once in a while. Her spices were the best.” Anne told him as he ate another slow spoonful and savored the taste.

“She sounds like and incredible woman,” he told her. She nodded.

“We lost her and Dad a few years ago in a train accident. It came off the tracks near a little market where she was… selling her spices,” the memory still hurt. The constable standing in the doorway of their little shack, telling them that their parents were gone and so were all their wares. She and WD had just enough in the savings to keep their home for a few months but they knew they couldn’t stay. And so they had travelled, looking for any odd jobs to keep them afloat, until they had seen Barnum’s ad and wound up with a family and a home.

“I am so sorry to hear that, my dear. You are too young to have faced such hardship,” he told her sympathetically. She shook her head.

“No, boys like Barnum were too young. WD and I have each other and we have our skills. We had the tools to survive. Those street kids… they don’t have much of a chance,” she told the older man. He nodded thoughtfully.

“I suppose you are right. So, do you keep it terribly dry in here with hardwood?” he asked, changing the subject back to something less heavy. She shook her head.

“Not often. Philip says it cracks his skin. And he’s not wrong. Besides, it isn’t as damp as directly on the sea so it works,” she shrugged.

“Would you consider building a shed like your mother had?”

“Well, we’ve thought about it, but this arrangement is temporary. Wagons move. We’d have to make a spice shed on… wheels…” she trailed off as she considered it. A little travelling spice wagon hitched behind their own. Or even off to the side if they weren’t the last in the caravan. It was something to think about.

“I see the wheels turning in your mind,” Mr. Carlyle jested. She shook her head and focused her attention on her dinner partner again.

“I apologize. A spice house on wheels would be something for sure,” she told him. He nodded.

“That it would,” they enjoyed the rest of their meal in comfortable silence. When a distant clock struck 10, they both jumped.

“I should be going. I’m sure Philip will be making his way home soon,” Mr. Carlyle said, getting to his feet and putting his coat back on. Anne cleared the bowls, making a mental note to wipe them out before Philip came in.

“It will be another hour or so but yes, he does sometimes like to surprise me and come home early,” she admitted. The soft smile on his face as he picked up his hat looked more at home on his face than she had ever seen.

“You two sound happy,” he commented. When she simply nodded, he bit his lip before saying, “May I ask you a favor? A rather impertinent one?”

“You may ask it but I can’t guarantee I’ll grant it,” she replied, intrigued more than wary. He huffed before saying,

“When you and Philip do marry, could I possibly be invited? Even if I’m just hidden in the back,” he asked, sounding a little desperate.

Yup, he was going to kill her with shock after all. Anne wobbled a bit and had to put her hand on the table to steady herself.

“You really think he’s going to ask me?” she whispered. He looked affronted for the first time since the tent.

“But of course. He lives with you, does he not? I assume the only reason you haven’t married yet is because he is raising funds and working himself ragged,” he told her.  “Do you honestly think he would do anything else?”

“I guess, I’m just waiting for him to tire of all this and go back home,” she admitted in a dark whisper. Her throat tightened with fear at the very idea. It was her deepest fear after all.

“Anne Wheeler, my son is many things. He is flighty and gossipy and an absolute pain in the tucas sometimes. But he is also loyal and kind and absolutely in love with you,” he told her, taking her hands in his and raising them to his lips once more.

“You raised him well, sir,” she murmured, overwhelmed. He shook his head ruefully.

“I’m afraid he grew up to be such a good man in spite of our parenting, not because of it. But I’m glad he did,” he told her and turned toward the door. Then he turned back, “This was a lovely evening, Ms Wheeler. I would like to repay the favor. Perhaps next week?”

“I would be honored, sir,” she said, inclining her head the way she had seen fine ladies do sometimes. His grin, she found when she looked back up, was infectious.

“Wonderful. I know a great little place not far from here. It’s very low key. No need to dress up or anything. I usually stop there on my way home on Tuesdays. I’d be delighted if you would join me,” he told her.

“I’ll meet you by the tent entrance during the encore next Tuesday then,” she told him. He grinned and nodded before leaving the wagon. He struggled a bit with his boots so she lit the lamp by the door. He grinned up her gratefully, finished the buckles, and headed off towards the exit of the circus. Most of the crowds would have left by now. Making a quick decision, she pulled on her own boots and carefully followed him to the exit. He didn’t have any trouble but she wanted to make sure none of the more suspicious folks bothered him.

When he walked out from under their banner, a man joined him. He was dressed in plain clothes but something about his walk indicated he was anything but plain. Mr. Carlyle greeted him warmly so she decided it was safe to leave him. She hurried back to the wagon, mulling over the evening in her head. She had quite a bit to think about.

#  *******

It was almost two months of weekly Tuesday dinners before they were found out. Mr. Carlyle was desperate to know more of how Philip was getting on as well as getting to know his future daughter-in-law better. They talked of the circus, her students, Philips stage mishaps, and Mr. Carlyle’s stuffy business functions.

They discussed spices and architecture and literature. When he found out, on their third Tuesday, that she not only could read but greatly enjoyed the works of Daniel Webster with his interest in peace and liberty, as well as the notion that ‘there is always room at the top’ and Catherine Sedgwick with her delightful little domestic stories, he was delighted. Stephen, as Mr. Carlyle had instructed her to call him, had a weakness for Sedgwick that he was excited to share. The next week, a mysterious package was delivered on the steps of the wagon. There was no note but it included many of the books they had discussed the week before that she had not read. She read through them quickly and the next time they met, they stayed at the bar until last call discussing plot points and themes.

Anne found she was rather fond of the gentleman. He had lost much of his stuffy, elitist attitude in the past few months. She could only assume this was due to his interest in reconnecting with his son. And, quite possibly, prolonged exposure to her. She often forgot he was not just another man from the circus, sitting down to have a pint and a chat.

#  *******

Philip had the vague sense that something was wrong. Not wrong, maybe… off. Something was off. Anne had been acting strange for weeks now. Mystery packages had been delivered, new books appeared and disappeared from the shelves. He didn’t press her but his girlfriend was starting to worry him. So, one Tuesday, he asked Barnum to take over the show for the evening. The older man was reluctant at first but when Charity scolded him for not giving the young man a night with his girl, Barnum immediately gave in. He seemed happy enough to oblige but he privately worried that Mr. Carlyle would be upset not to see his son. Ah well, nothing to be done about it.

So that was how Philip found himself alone in their little wagon, looking for the woman he supposedly shared it with. The show had started thirty minutes ago. He had slipped out after making sure everyone was good to go. But now he found the wagon empty. Concerned, he went back to the tent and peeked in. Sometimes he caught sight of her by the entrance, watching him perform.

Nothing. He was about to trudge back to the wagon to wait when one of the blokes who helped set up and tear down the sets said to him,

“You looking for your lady love?” he chuckled. The man was obviously drunk. Philip scrunched his nose in distaste but nodded.

“Yes. Have you seen Anne?”

“She went off with that older fella she’s been seeing. You better be careful, Carlyle. He dressed far better than you,” the drunk guffawed.

“What? Anne has been seeing an older man?”

“Yeah. They spend most Tuesday nights down at the Rose and Crown. While you perform, I believe,” he snickered. Philip resisted the urge to punch the man. Instead, he stalked towards the front of the circus, trying to banish the doubt filling his head with no success. Was this man the source of the mysterious packages? Was he wooing her? Was she letting him?

He was just approaching the pub when a carriage pulled up in front of it. He stopped dead in his tracks as he watched his mother descend from the carriage, as severe and imposing as he had ever seen her.

“Mother?” he gasped. She turned, startled, to look at him.

“Philip. What on earth are you doing here?” she snapped.

“I’m looking for my fiancé. What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for my husband. It’s come to my attention that he has been coming down here to canoodle with some hussy while I am at my book club.” She told him, nose in the air. Philip had an uneasy feeling in his chest as he opened the door for her without another word. Both were frozen in the doorway at the sight of Stephen Carlyle and Anne Wheeler sitting at a table near the bar, books spread out around them, and laughing like old friends. The entire bar fell quiet until their laughter was the only sound.

Anne was the first to notice them. The silence set off alarm bells in her head and she whirled to see her fiancé and his mother staring at them with twin looks of shock. She could definitely see the resemblance between them. They had the same nose and their eyebrows had the same arch when they were surprised. Like right now.

“Stephen!” Mrs. Carlyle barked. The man in question jumped, nearly upsetting the table.

“Anne?” Philip’s voice was quieter, full of questions. She pulled her shawl tighter around her, a tell he knew from experience meant that she was terrified and trying to hide it. “Darling, what is going on?”

“I would like to know that myself,” Mrs. Carlyle barked. Stephen sighed.

“My dear, please lower your voice,” he said, placating and long suffering in the same breath. Before she could respond, Anne interrupted,

“He came to see you perform,” she told Philip in a quiet voice.

“So that’s where you’ve been these last months?” Mrs. Carlyle asked, sounding as if the wind had been knocked out of her.

“Maybe we should continue this discussion in private,” Stephen suggested quickly. Anne nodded, biting her lip. They gathered up the books on the tables, leaving a few bills for their drinks, before leading the way out of the pub.

“Thanks for the warning, Mack!” Stephen called back to the bartender. A boy stood at his side, looking terrified.

“Eh, he’s just a kid. He ain’t perfect,” the bartender called back.

“Your little spy didn’t tell me a thing. One of the drunks nearby gave you both up on Broadway,” Mrs. Carlyle said, sounding haughty. Stephen smiled and raised her hand to his lips.

“And I suppose you gave him a ride home on the trunk of the carriage?” he asked, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. She huffed and didn’t answer.

“She let me ride in the carriage!” the boy called out from behind his father. Mrs. Carlyle blushed scarlet. “And she bought me a fritter from a vendor.”

“Mother, I do believe you’ve gone soft,” Philip chuckled as she waved the boy off with a little smile she couldn’t quite stave off. The child waved energetically, poking his head under his father’s arm and grinning like a fiend.

“I have not. I just wasn’t going to make the boy walk when we were going to the same place. Besides, he promised to point out the pub and give directions, once he had been ousted.” She tried to remain haughty but it was useless. She smiled back at the boy as the door swung shut.

“Well, we may as well go have some supper then,” Anne sighed, starting back toward the circus.

“Oh did you make-,” Stephen started and the young woman started laughing.

“Yeah, I did. I have plenty for everyone. Though you didn’t need to send so many leeks,” she scolded. He shrugged.

“I plan on taking some home so I figured I may as well contribute to the meal,” he told her. She smiled and started walking. “Now, as we were saying-“

“Stephen, would you care to explain what is going on?” Mrs. Carlyle sounded strangled.

“We have been invited back to Anne and Philips home for supper, dear,” he told her, sounding weary. Anne secretly suspected that he was mostly frustrated by their discussion of the newest periodical by Sedgwick being interrupted.

“You have?” Philip was definitely his mother’s son. They had the same strangled voice when they were unpleasantly surprised.

“Yes, dear. They have,” Anne told him. He shrugged and stepped closer to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. Mostly for his own comfort.

“Okay. If you’re sure,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“There, see? Now, I’ve been promised leek and potato soup,” Stephen said, ushering the young couple forward. They laughed and led the way back to their wagon. Mrs. Carlyle held her husband back a few paces and he turned to face her, just under the banner marking the entrance.

“What is going on?” she asked, exasperated. He took her hand.

“We lost our son. Our only child had renounced us. I just wanted to see how he was doing. I went to speak to Barnum and he gave me enough tickets to last a year. So I went to see him perform. One week I was late and I ran into Ms. Anne. We struck up a conversation and then she invited me back to their home for dinner. We have developed quite a friendship. And I feel closer to Philip than I have since he was a child,” Stephen explained.

“And he has had no idea you have been visiting his… girl?” she asked. He shook his head emphatically.

“Not at all. He spins a lot during the encore so he never sees me slip out. And I make sure to make myself scarce before he comes home. I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable or put Anne in an awkward position,” Stephen explained. Mrs. Carlyle rubbed her temple lightly with two fingers to fend off a headache.

“And to think I honestly thought you were having an affair,” she murmured. He chuckled.

“Anne said, when she first heard about my little scheme, that I was wasting a perfectly good setup to have an affair.”

“She was right. So this is why you insisted we add leeks to the grocery list and then were perfectly okay when the bag disappeared a week later?” she inquired as they started walking again. He blushed.

“That was not me at my most subtle, I admit,” Stephen confessed. She put her arm through his and he pulled her a little closer.

“I wish you would have told me but I understand why you didn’t,” she said at last. He shrugged.

“We had to work through our anger at different paces, Marion dear,” he told her. She smiled. The sound of her name on his lips gave her the same thrill as when they were first married.

“Now, where did they disappear to?” she asked. Stephen just smiled and patted her hand reassuringly. The circus grounds were dark and foreboding for newcomers. It had taken him a few weeks before he felt even remotely comfortable wandering through it.

“Ah they got ahead of us. I know the way, never fear. We switch between the pub and the house most every other week,” he explained. When they came upon the little wagon, she gaped up at it.

“It’s so tiny” she whispered. Their bedchamber alone was bigger than the entire structure. And taller too.

“But it’s their home,” Stephen voice held a very clear warning. She could do nothing but nod and let him draw her onto the first step. “Boots off, dear.”

“Excuse me?” she yelped. He shrugged.

“Anne’s rule. So no mud is tracked in. She keeps a clean home,” Stephen told her. She shook her head and removed her boots with some difficulty, holding on to Stephen’s arm for support as she balanced on the step. Finally, she was loosed from both her boots and he had shed his, he knocked politely on the door. Philip opened it, looking nervous and a little red.

“May we come in?” Stephen asked gently. Philips eyes flicked down to their stockinged feet. He gulped and opened the door wider.

“Please do,” he said in a small voice.

Anne had pulled the table over towards the bed so it could act as a bench. She was flitting around, setting out what Stephen knew to be her best silverware and digging for napkins in a trunk. Smiling warmly, Stephen immediately picked up the large stewpot from its place atop the stove and started ladelling out steaming portions into bowls already sitting on the table.

“Philip, could you fetch me the cilantro? Fresh?” Anne asked distractedly. Philip moved to the windowsill and stared at the overflowing green of the window box in confusion. Marion came up behind him and pointed.

“There, the one in the corner. The overzealous many leaf clover,” she told him. He smiled up at her, just the way he had done when he was a child.

“Got it,” he picked up the small pair of scissors Anne always kept in the box, between two pots, and clipped a few stalks of the cilantro. Turning, he showed them to the others. “Is this enough?”

“That will be plenty,” Stephen told him as Anne nodded from the table. She took them and quickly wiped them down with a soft, damp cloth before tearing the leaves up and sprinkling them into the bowls before putting the stalks into a small box in the larder. They all quietly took their seats, Philip and Anne on the bed while they gave the elders the chairs. Anne said a quick grace and raised her spoon to her lips, glancing up to see Stephen smiling and Marion looking torn. She took her bite and grinned, nodding to Stephen. He dug in with gusto.

“As always, fantastic,” he exclaimed. “But I notice a slightly different taste.”

“I tried something from that book on spice blends you sent over,” she told him, grinning.

“The Italian blend?” he asked, leaning forward. She chuckled and nodded, blushing a little..

“Yes, but with less oregano because that won’t sprout for a while and I don’t want to run out,” she explained. He looked truly interested, bobbing his head in agreement as he took about spoonful of soup..

“I think a little more oregano would be fine but not much because then it would overpower the soup,” he told her.

“I agree,” she replied before continuing to eat. Marion took a dainty, cautious bite. Her eyes flared as wide as her husband’s had.

“My dear, this is exquisite,” she exclaimed. Philip looked torn between laughing and pinching himself.

“Anne really is quite the cook,” he told them, unnecessarily. But it earned him a kiss on the cheek so he counted it as a win.

“Top notch,” Stephen agreed. Anne just blushed and ducked her head.

“You’ll have to come and teach our cook your secrets because he could certainly do with your tutelage,” Marion said, not looking up.

“Ah yes, you should come to ours,” Stephen exclaimed, suddenly excited. “Anne, dear, you must see the library. I’ve worked very hard to collect some of the finest tomes of American literature.”

“I’m not sure Catherine Sedgwick could be counted as literature,” Marion told him, her eyes glinting with mischief. He huffed and rolled his eyes.

“I certainly would,” Anne told her, stars in her eyes. Then they dimmed, “Are you sure that is a good idea?”

“Why ever would it not be?” he asked before realization dawned on his face.

“You’re socialite friends would never let you hear the end of it. And your business partners could withdraw,” she said in a small voice. He glared down at his soup.  Finally, his head jerked up.

“Let them. I haven’t been this happy in years. If they have such small minds, they can’t be good engineers, can they?” he told the table at large. Marion’s had flew to her mouth while Philip just looked stunned.

“Who are you and what have you done with my father?” Philip asked after a few moments of silence.

“I’m a reformed man now, Philip. You understand,” Stephen told his son before resuming his meal. Marion stared at the man she married, trying to reconcile him with the cold, properly stoic man from back then to the warm, happy one she sat next to now. Then she shrugged.

“If you’re willing to risk our reputation, I may as well prepare for it. Those biddies at the salon are going to have a field day over this,” she said, sounding like it didn’t bother her much.

“Are you both sure?” Anne asked, sounding a little more confident than before. Marion looked her straight in the eye and replied,

“Under one condition.”

“And what is that, Mother?” Philip bristled but Marion only had eyes for Anne. Anne nodded and waited, holding her breath.

“That I get to see my grandchildren regularly when you have them,” she told them with a smile. Every jaw dropped. Stephen looked impressed, Anne blushed, and Philip looked flabbergasted.

“Mother!” he gasped. She smiled, enjoying their reaction.

“I got us an invite to the wedding, dear. I like the way you think,” Stephen said in a stage whisper. Philip flailed and looked over at Anne. She was barely containing laughter.

“In the event we have children, they will most certainly have a relationship with their grandparents,” Anne promised. Marion nodded, pleased, while Stephen kissed her cheek. Philip choked before saying,

“I still plan on asking you properly,” he told her. She shrugged.

“Darling, we aren’t in any rush,” she told him. He pulled her into a deep kiss that both his parents had to look away from.

“Now, since that is settled,” Stephen said, focusing back on his soup while trying to contain his blush. The young couple broke apart, giggling.

“Of course.” Anne told him and they returned to their meal.

“Not that you should be, but why aren’t you in a rush to marry, if I may ask?” Marion asked near the end of the meal. Anne shrugged.

“Well, we have everything we need for now. We have our home and our jobs and each other. Why rush into a marriage until everything… settles?” she said, deflecting. Philip rolled his eyes and took her hand.

“What she means to say is that until I make back the money to buy a home and afford a wedding, we can’t afford to get married right now,” he told his parents. They gaped at him.

“But you said when you left that you took 10% of the show,” Stephen said quietly. Philip nodded.

“And when Barnum lost his 90% with the whole Lind mess and the Museum burning down, I put up my savings to buy this land and put up the tent. We are still trying to earn that back. It’s coming along nicely but for now, we are basically broke. I don’t want to enter a marriage in debt,” Philip said, sounding only a little defensive. His parent’s shared a look. They seemed to come to a silent conclusion, having had a conversation that only close couples who had been together for many years can accomplish.

“Philip, we never wrote you out of the will,” Stephen said at last. “You inheritance, and allowance, are still yours. If you want it.”

“Father, I-“

“Darling, don’t argue. You will do the same for your children one day. We just want to ensure you have them while we are still young and spry enough to know them,” Marion cut in. Anne giggled.

“We do want children, Philip. And… I think maybe we should take it,” she whispered to him. He stared down at her. She shrugged. “We can still work and you know you will have a sizable fortune in a few years, with how well the circus is doing. But it would be nice to eat fresh bread instead of the day old stuff. And to get married in this decade,” she admitted. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Then he looked over at his parents again.

“I guess if I had no qualms spending it on liquor and play tickets, I shouldn’t have any building a life for my family,” he admitted. Stephen sat back, looking satisfied.

“Wonderful. You have tomorrow off, correct?”

“Yes, there aren’t any shows tomorrow. Anne has class but I’m free,” Philip told him, standing and beginning to clear the table. Anne got up automatically and started to fill the little basin by the counter with water. She took the bowls from his hands and placed them in the water to soak. Then she took out a frilly dish with a lid from a blanket lined basket by the door. She began to scoop stew into it, careful not to drip. When it was almost full, she placed the lid on top, secured it with a piece of twine, and placed it back in its basket before putting it on the table.

“You’re soup for home,” she told the older couple. Stephen nodded, looking momentarily delighted, before returning his gaze to his son.

“Wonderful! Then we can go to the bank tomorrow and settle the accounts,” he said. Philip looked overwhelmed for a moment. And then, in a display of affection he had learned from Anne and WD, he reached over the table to hug his father tightly around the shoulders. Stunned but none the less pleased, the older man returned the embrace. Philip released him and stepped back, his eyes a little red.

“And your mother doesn’t get a hug? Would you so neglect an old lady?” Marion chided lightly, smiling as she did so. He chuckled wetly and moved around the table to embrace his mother. Tears rose in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. “You’re a good boy.”

“Thank you, Mother,” he whispered. As he backed up, he snaked his arm around Anne’s waist to pull her close.

“Yes, thank you,” Anne echoed, her voice a little thick. Stephen stood, grinning from ear to ear.

“Wonderful. And tomorrow, Anne dear, come to our home after you’ve finished with your students. It’s about time I provide you with a home cooked meal instead of pub fair,” he invited jovially. Her eyes flicked to Marion.

“That sounds like a splendid idea,” the older woman agreed, standing as well. Anne blushed and pulled Philip a little closer.

“I’ll be there,” she told them, her voice a little stronger now.

“Well, now we have that settled, we should be getting home,” Stephen said. They said their goodbyes and left the wagon, basket with the soup in it on Stephen’s arm. Anne and Philip waved them off as they put on their boots and wandered off into the circus towards the entrance.

“Will they be okay?” Philip wondered out loud as she closed the door. Anne nodded.

“He never lets me walk him out. He’s too much of a gentleman to let me walk alone in the dark apparently. So he knows the way pretty well,” she told him. When she turned around he, was staring into the tiny stove, arms crossed. “Philip… I’m sorry-“

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he didn’t mean to sound so harsh but the words surprised him. She deflated, pulling on her shawl.

“He didn’t want to upset you. After… everything, he thought you hated him. And considering my first reaction was to pin him against a post and threaten him, I can understand why he was nervous. I figured, time would heal all wounds and he was… pleasant to spend time with,” she admitted. He stared at her.

“You like spending time with my father,” he asked, gaping a bit. She shrugged.

“We talk about books and plants and plays. It feels like I’m talking to my dad sometimes,” she admitted. And suddenly he got it. He understood why she had done what she did. “I know it’s selfish but-“

“No, no it’s not selfish,” he told her, crossing the room in one long step to wrap her up in his arms. “You did right. I’m just trying to wrap my mind around all this.”

“You got your inheritance back,” she whispered. He shook his head.

“I got my parents back,” he corrected. “I can make more money. I can’t make more of them.”

“I knew I fell in love with a good man,” she told him, looking up into his bright blue eyes.

“And I fell in love with the best woman in the world,” he told her. “Just don’t tell my mom I said that.” Both of them dissolved into laughter.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she promised before reluctantly pulling away from him. “Here, let’s finish cleaning up and then we can move this to the bed.

“I can go for that,” he smirked, before catching her by the waist and pulling her into a deep, quick kiss. “I’ll do the dishes. You put away the soup?”

“Deal.”

#  *******

Anne wished she had never agreed to this. It was ridiculous. It was absolutely ridiculous.

She stared up at the beautiful house with a large awning hanging over the sidewalk in front of the door. She checked the address on the paper Philip had left for her as he had hurried out that morning.

_840 Fifth Ave_

The house was… extravagant. Far larger and more exquisite than any other she had seen in New York. The only house she had ever seen to compare was the one that Barnum had managed to reclaim from the bank after it had been foreclosed on. He had paid back more than half of his loan after rebuilding the circus and bringing in a few month’s worth of profit. That and he had demanded a refund from that Lind woman for the shows she didn’t finish. That helped a great deal. He had promised to pay the rest of the loan back with interest and the banker just… agreed. It boggled her mind how he managed to charm people but charm them he did. And, as if by magic, the house was his again and he had taken to spending quite a bit of time there, often inviting the crew out for picnics or dinners. But that was a house on the coast, not in the middle of Manhattan.

Taking a deep breath, she checked the street again before crossing to the house. She walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell before she could talk herself out of it. Almost immediately, a butler came to the door. He looked her up and down and she fought a blush.

“How may I help you?” he said at last.

“I am here to see the Carlyle’s,” she said, proud that her voice didn’t shake.

“Only the lady of the house is home,” the butler told her, as if giving her a chance to escape. She fought the urge to take it.

“Then I shall pay a call on her,” she said, searching for a lion’s bravery that she had seen in Philip. She was doing this for them. The butler nodded and smiled.

“Come in then,” he let her in and the mudroom took her breath away. It was tall and elaborate. Stunning their guest was surely the designer’s intent. He took her coat and hung it up before pausing. She stared at him for a moment.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. He shook his head, a small smile on his face.

“Not at all, miss. I just realized that you are the first colored person to enter this house through the front door,” he told her. Her eyes widened. “I think it’s a sign that things are changing for the better, don’t you?”

“I should hope so. Thank you,” she replied, not sure what she was supposed to say here.

“Feels like someone is rearranging the constellations lately. I think they are prettier now anyway,” was the last thing he said before opening the door into the foyer. It was a massive room that reminded her of the circus tent. She turned in a circle on her heel, admiring the artwork and architectural details. The sound of someone clearing their throat behind her made her jump. She turned, skirts flaring out, to face Marion Carlyle as she descended the staircase to the second level.

“You have a marvelous home,” Anne told the older woman as she approached her. Before Anne realized what she was doing, the lady of the house pulled her into an embrace and kissed either cheek. Anne leaned back, eyes wide, as the woman smiled.

“Thank you dear. We do like it. I hope you and Philip will be visiting more now. They should be back from the back soon. How were your students today?” Anne forgot to be nervous as the lady deftly pried information from her without openly doing so. The conversation was a easy as if she were talking to Stephen or Philip. They talked about their day and the house as Marion gave Anne the grand tour.

They ended up in the ladies parlor, sipping tea and pouring over swatches of wall paper for one of the bedrooms that Marion was redoing. The older woman was impressed by Anne’s eye for color and let herself be convinced to choose a brighter blue than the pastel she would have picked otherwise.

“And if you add some black accents, the room will really pop. And yet, the blue will also soothe. Perfect for a bedroom for visitors, perhaps?” Anne asked, looking up from the table to eye the other woman.

“I think you’re right,” Marion agreed cheerfully. A bell in the corner interrupted them by jangling on its rope like a crazed puppet. “Ah, the boys are back. And just in time for supper. Perfect.”

Marion stood and led Anne back to the foyer where Stephen and Philip were readjusting their collars. Anne had to restrain herself from running to Philip. She just wanted to throw herself in his arms and cling but they were in his parents house and she had to be on her best behavior. Philip had no such qualms. He rushed up the last few steps to the wide landing and lifted her into the air before letting her drop against his chest. The breath was knocked from her lungs but she wasn’t sure if it was from the drop or just his presence. Giving over to instinct, she clung to him, knuckles white as she gripped his shirt.

God, she loved this man. So much. She wasn’t sure what she’d do without him.

After a few long moments, they released each other, though their hands found each other and held on tight. They turned to find his parents looking at them with a mixture of concern and happiness on your faces.

“Shall we move to the dining room?” Stephen said after a moment. Philip nodded and smiled over at Anne, nodding his head. She returned the gesture, still worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Just as they were about to cross the threshold into the dining room, it all suddenly became too much. She froze and Philip jerked back a little at the sudden halt. He turned to find her staring at the big table laden with supper with wide eye. He turned back to her, blocking her view of the room and cupping her cheek with her free hand.

“I’m not allowed in the dining room,” she whispered, looking down at the floor as tears started to stream out of her eyes. He made a soothing noise with his tongue and pulled her closer.

“There is no where you aren’t allowed to go anymore, my dear. Nowhere, okay?” he whispered, letting her bury her face in his shirt. She choked on a sob, not willing to let it escape. Not here, not now. Not ever. “Let it out, love. You are among friends here.”

She shook her head again, using the motion to burrow closer to him. He squeezed a little more before releasing her. She stepped back, blinking rapidly as she tried to stem the flow of tears. A handkerchief appeared to her right. Stephen looked concerned but not upset.

“Dry your tears, my dear,” he encouraged. She did and then used it to blow her running nose as well. The butler who had let her in offered a hamper for her to drop the soiled handkerchief into. She blushed redder than before.

“I’m sorry to have caused such a scene,” she whispered. Philip looked as if his heart had shattered from the broken look on his face. He gaped, unable to find the words that would fix this.

“No no, dear. You have done no such thing. You just take a breath and we can try this again. Or perhaps we can eat somewhere else… the parlor perhaps?” Stephen offered. The proffered option flipped a switch in her mind and all of  sudden her panic disappeared.

“No, I’m okay. Thank you,” she said, her voice steady again. She squeezed Philip’s had a little before squaring her chin and walking into the dining room. She sat at the seat Marion nodded at, relieved when Philip sat next to her. When the wait staff came in, they didn’t seem the least bit startled that she was present in the room. They served her like any other guest.

A large dinner of roast beef with potatoes and carrots along with a loaf of fresh bread and side of spoonbread laid out before them. Anne was sure her eyes would bug out of her head as her plate was piled with food. Marion and Stephen looked… smug, for lack of a better word.

“You both know how to put together a good meal,” Anne told them. The smug smiles widened into something more flattered.

“Thank you. Our cook is quite talented. After dinner, if you wouldn’t mind, could you show us how you make that wonderful soup you made. It brought him to tears, I swear,” Stephen told her. Anne wondered at the idea that her simple little soup could have such an effect but apparently it had. And going by the elder Carlyle’s reaction, it really was something special.

“Henry, could you fetch Cookie for us? Maybe we can convince him to eat with us today,” Marion said to the butler. He smiled, bowed a little, and disappeared. Philip was staring at his mother as if she had absolutely lost her mind.

“Okay, what on earth is going on? Six months ago you were so stuffy that simply looking at someone with a net worth of less than $10,000 gave you hives. And now you want the cook to eat with us in the formal dining room?” Philip demanded. His parents shared a look that said ‘shit I think we have to tell him” before Stephen took a deep breath.

“After that night in the theater, when you told us off, we were even more stuffy than usual,” Stephen confessed. Anne looked over at Philip. His eyes were hard and he was tense as a strung bowstring. “We attended more parties, were more rude to the staff, and talked loudly about family obligation. As if we had any idea. But one evening, we ended up at a party at the Smith family home and I got to talking with a Gerrit Smith. He is working on building up his political career. The longer we talked, the more I realized that we had completely different opinions on most everything. But then he’d say something that I absolutely agreed with. He wants every state to be like New York, no slaves. He thinks a civil war would destroy our country. He thinks women should be fully autonomous politically. He believes that education is the path to a better life. You can see where I was conflicted speaking with him.”

“That is about the time when I walked over, mostly to save Stephen from what looked like a dreadfully uncomfortable conversation, when I heard him speak a few words about women’s suffrage,” Marion interrupted. “I was intrigued and before I knew it, I was eating up every word.”

“So when he started asking questions about you… the conversation took a turn for the uncomfortable,” Stephen confessed.

“He said how _proud_ we must be to have such a brave and successful son. A son was willing to go out and make his fortune just as his forefathers did instead of relying on the wealth his family already had.” Marion fanned herself with her napkin, a blush of embarrassment rising on her cheeks.

“He’s a big fan. I hope to get tickets for a Saturday performance for him sometime soon,” Stephen confessed. “So obviously, when he learned we had disowned you, he was mightily disappointed. And the more I thought about it, the more I was disappointed in myself.”

“We were both disappointed in ourselves, just privately,” Marion corrected. He gave her a little apologetic head nod.

“So that’s when you went to talk to Mr. Barnum?” Philip asked.

“Not quite,” his father answered, fiddling with his napkin. “Not long after, at the same party, a critic from the Herald was speaking with a few politicians by the dessert table and I happened to overhear the conversation.”

“Stephen! The doctor said you shouldn’t be eating sweets!” Marion cried, smacking his arm lightly.

“Did I say dessert table? I mean the vegetable tray,” he lied with a chuckle. She rolled her eyes and he continued quickly, “Anyway, they were talking about your show. And Mr. Bennet was admitting with some reluctance that he had not only been to see the show recently, but he had also attended one of the Tuesday shows as well. And, quite despite himself, he enjoyed himself. When asked about your relationship, Mr. Bennet reported that you were a beautiful couple and anyone who mocked you should be ashamed. And then he looked right at me.”

“Mr. Bennet? Not James Gordon Bennett?” Philip asked. Anne didn’t say anything but she leaned forward, as if by being closer she would receive the answer sooner.

“Just the same,” Mr. Carlyle confirmed. Philip collapsed back into his chair like a puppet cut from its strings.

“Good lord,” he murmured and covered his face with one hand. Anne took his hand and kissed it.

“You realize that it’s a good thing, right?” she asked. He nodded, not removing his hand.

“I just can’t believe it. He actually liked my show.” Philip sounded absolutely overwhelmed. Anne smiled back at the elder Carlyle’s.

“Bennet has been one of our most outspoken critics for years. We had no idea that his feelings have changed,” she explained. Stephen rubbed his chin as he considered this.

“You know, I do remember reading something in the paper written by him a number of years back.” He said slowly. “A very unflattering review of the circus. And right next to it was a ½ off coupon for anyone who brought the paper with them to a show.”

“Ah, that was Barnum’s idea. It worked fantastically,” Anne smiled, fondly remembering how Barnum had spun the review in his favor. He was a trickster at heart, that man.

“Well, whatever his previous opinion, he now speaks highly of the circus if he is pressed. Not an opinion he flaunts, to be sure. And it started me thinking, that this man with no relation to the two of you beyond seeing you show over the years, had more of a connection with my own son than I did. The more I thought about it, the more it bothered me, until I was half mad with the thought. That was when I went to speak to Barnum.”

“And while he was sneaking cookies and eavesdropping, I was continuing my conversation with Mr. Smith. Who invited me to the Tuesday book club,” Marion told them. She sat a little straighter. “A book club that is a front for a women’s suffragette meeting.”

“Wait what?” Stephen turned to stare at his wife with wide eyes while Philip and Anne’s jaws dropped.

“I have been meeting with women of all ages and walks of life for the past two months to discuss women’s rights,” Marion said, voice filled with pride. “I have come to realize that my ‘place’ is not with my nose in the air at a social event but instead holding a sign at a social justice rally. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

“Why didn’t you invite me? Or are men not welcome?” Stephen sounded stung but Marion’s smile acted like a balm on his hurt feelings.

“Of course you are welcome dear. But you seemed so intent on the gentleman’s club that I thought I should go alone for a while,” she said, hedging towards and accusation. Stephen shut his mouth before he could say something stupid and looked back across the table.

“So you see, we have done quite a bit of growing in the past few years, mostly in the last few months,” Stephen told them.

“You have come a long way,” Anne said as a small smile curled her lips up.

“That we have. And thank god for it,” Stephen told her. She smiled and looked around as a door opened behind them. A burly cook with a messy apron bustled into the room.

“Is something wrong with dinner, sir?” he asked Stephen.

“Of course not, Jem. No, I wanted to introduce you to the lady who made that potato and leek soup we brought home last night,” Stephen said, standing and rounding the table. Anne stood and turned o face the man, staring up a good foot to look him in the face. The man’s expression morphed from offended concern to excitement.

“Ah! Yes! Good!” he exclaimed, wiping his hands on a towel at is waist. “The soup! You will teach me?”

“Ummm sure I could. It’s not a family secret or anything,” Anne agreed, looking down at Philip as she wondered what exactly she was agreeing to here. But Philip just smiled and nodded before folding his napkin on the table. He stood and took her hand.

“If I may introduce Anne Wheeler,” he introduced. “But I’m afraid we can’t tonight. Perhaps next Monday? Work picks up the next few days and we will be busy.”

“But there isn’t another show til Friday!” Stephen sounded dismayed but Philip just smiled.

“And we have new acts to rehearse, animals to train, rigs to fix, and accounts to balance,” Philip told his father. “The circus isn’t a weekend endeavor, Father.”

“No, I supposed it isn’t,” the older man sounded saddened as he nodded to the cook and the man left. “I can’t believe I miss the time when you were just lying about the house, bored and willing to spend time with your old man.”

“Father, I was 10!” Philip exclaimed, embarrassed. Anne giggled.

“Yes, before you became obnoxiously opinionated,” Marion put in, standing and ushering her guests out of the dining room and into the foyer. Henry went ahead to get their coats while they said their goodbyes.

“Monday then?” Marion asked as she kissed Anne’s cheeks again. The young woman blushed at the familiarity but found that it wasn’t unwelcome.

“Definitely,” she replied, returning the kisses with some hesitation. Marion looked thrilled and let her go to wrap her son in a hug. Stephen swept her up in a bear hug that took her breath away.

“Welcome to the family, dear,” Stephen whispered as he put her down. Her smile came easier with him. She was used to his hugs by now. Philip was already putting on his coat and scarf. He helped her with hers before pulling her out onto the sidewalk. She barely had time to say goodbye to Henry.

“Philip! What’s the hurry? We left early!” she cried, laughing as he led her across the street and into the park. They giggled like children as they ran. Finally, they slowed down, completely out of breath, by a large oak tree by the path. It looked as if it had been there since before humans had inhabited Manhattan. She stared up at the sky, surprised to see the twinkle of a few little stars despite the city lights. When she looked back at him, Philip was staring at her so intensely she jumped. “Dearest?”

“Was that okay, that evening? Are you better now?” he asked. She nodded.

“I’m okay now. Some habits are hard to break but break them I will,” she told him.

“And my parents?” she worried that he was reading into this evening a little too much.

“I like your parents, Philip. They are far kinder than they were before. They are… nice,” she said. He nodded, biting his lip, before taking both her hands in his.

“Anne, I have been in love with you since the first moment our eyes met. I decided right then that you are the most wonderful woman in the world and I was destined to find you, the person I live and breathe for. I want to provide for you and support you and be the man you deserve. You make me a better person and have taught me how to live a life worth living. I know that no matter what happens, I want to spend every moment of every day rewriting the constellations until they spell our names across the heavens forever,” he proclaimed in a terrified but completely confident voice that only he could master.

Her heart stopped in her chest as he knelt down on one knee and brought out a little box from his pocket. He opened it and she gasped at the ring, crowned with a little diamond, glinting in the lamplight. It was small, nothing that any of the highborn ladies would coo at and admire, but it was set just perfectly and it sparkled like a star against the black velvet. “Anne Wheeler, would you do me the honor of marrying and being my wife?”

“Philip!” she cried, he hands coming up to cover her mouth as tears fell from her eyes in an unexpected torrent. She wanted to remind him that it was a bad idea. That people would talk. That it would be dangerous. That he deserved better. All that came out was, “Yes! Yes of course!”

He surged to his feet and wrapped his arms around her waist, swinging her around in circles, as they laughed and cried. She clung to him, desperate and so happy she thought her chest was going to burst in her chest.

Then she thought of something that caused all the joy to drain out of her like water through a sieve. Philip stepped back, brows furrowed as he tried to figure out why she had gone limp.

“Philip, did you talk to WD?” she asked, breath coming quicker. She loved her brother deeply and all of a sudden she felt hundreds of miles away from him. From their world.

“Of course he did. He knew I’d give him what for if he hadn’t at least run the idea past me,” A voice said from behind a tree a few feet away. “Though I’m touched you thought of me, sis.”

“WD!” she cried, and ran to her brother as he walked toward the newly engaged couple. He caught her up in a hug that felt a tighter, a little more desperate than usual.

“Congratulations,” he whispered, looking up at Philip with his usual enigmatic smile. “To both of you.”

“Thank you,” Philip replied, resisting the urge to add ‘ _can i have my fiance back please?_ ’. But the siblings broke apart at that moment and Anne pulled WD over so she could look back down at the ring, still in its box.

“It’s perfect, Philip. Just perfect,” she sighed. He carefully pulled it from the box and slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit her just right and she held it up to admire it in the light. WD smiled and rolled his eyes.

“I guess I should be happy that it’s not purple or bubblegum pink,” he teased. She shoved him a little, not taking her eyes off the ring.

“Well, we should be going,” Philip jerked his head back toward the exit of the park. The siblings looked at him with twin looks of confusion. He still wasn’t convinced they weren’t actually twins. “Father has ice cream and cake, to celebrate.”

“He knew?” she asked, startled. Philip couldn’t help but laugh.

“Of course. He helped me pick out the ring today,” Philip told her. Anne gaped at him for moment before groaning.

“That man does love his secrets, doesn’t he?” she accused, taking Philips hand as he led them back up the path. WD fell in step with her so they were walking 3 abreast.

“That he does. We will have to watch him during the wedding planning. He adores surprises. My birthdays actually started giving me anxiety because I never knew if the room I was about to enter for fear there would be balloons or people or puppies about to assault me.” Philip had them laughing so hard that they hardly noticed as they crossed the street and walked up to the door. Henry was waiting for them, beaming.

“Welcome back! And I see congratulations are in order!” he exclaimed as he opened the door with a flourish. Before they had even taken off their coats, the newly engaged couple was smothered with hugs by Philip’s parents. WD was dragged into the greeting as well, looking about as shocked as he ever did. Marion seemed to realize belatedly that she didn’t know the man she was hugging but she simply shrugged and kissed his cheek before pulling Anne into the foyer.

“Oh, I cannot wait to find you a dress! We must go shopping!” Mairon gushed. She looked positively giddy. Stephen couldn’t stop shaking Philip’s hand. Philip looked like he was trying not to laugh until his eyes landed on WD, who was looking supremely uncomfortable in the middle of the grandiose foyer.

“And this is my future brother-in-law. WD, meet my father Stephen Carlyle. Father, this is WD Wheeler,” Philip introduced, his smile turning sly as WD’s eyes widened with alarm. Stephen didn’t notice. He was too busy grabbing the young man’s hand and shaking it enthusiastically.

“It’s so good to meet you. Anne has told me so much about you. Welcome to the family!” he exclaimed. Anne, looking over from where she was trying to talk down Marion from having pearls sewn onto her future wedding dress, began to giggle. WD was staring at all of them in alarm.

“It’s… good to meet you too, sir,” he said finally, returning his gaze back to Stephen. The older man scoffed and waved his free hand.

“None of that! We’re too be family after all. Call me ‘Stephen’!” he instructed. WD just gulped and nodded.

“And we thought the circus was overwhelming,” Anne said to him. That drew a chuckle from all of them. Stephen blushed a little and took a step back, dropping WD’s hand.

“Ah well, yes. We are a bit excited, I do confess,” he said and started to lead the way to the dining room. “But what am I thinking, we have dessert waiting for us. WD, we’ll have a place set for you right away.”

“Thank you, Stephen. For everything,” Anne said, running over to him. He just had time to open arms as she hugged him fiercely. He caught her up and held her close.

“I’ve always wanted a daughter, you know,” he said, sounding teary. She grinned as she stepped back.

“I hope I’m a good replacement,” she said, looking down. He chuckled.

“Replacement? Nonsense. You are the answer to a prayer. You are more wonderful a daughter-in-law than I could have hoped. I’m going to be the luckiest grandpa in all of the USA,” he said firmly before turning and walking into the dining room. Marion pulled WD in with her, leaving Philip and Anne alone in the foyer.

“Anne?” Philip looked down at her, nervous despite himself. He tried to remind himself that she had said ‘yes’ already. That he didn’t have to be insecure about measuring up to her expectations or worry about her spurning his affections anymore.

“I love you, Phillip Carlyle. More than all the stars in the sky,” Anne told him, stepping up to take his hands in hers.

“And you’re happy with all this?” he pressed, just to make sure. The blissful smile on her face convinced him.

“Absolutely. I’ve never been happier.”

“Good. We better go make sure Mother hasn’t planned the entire wedding already,” Philip chuckled, pulling her towards the dining room.

“Do you think they’ll object to having the wedding at the circus? In the tent?” Anne asked. Philip stopped dead and turned, dipping her as he kissed her deeply. Her heart didn’t even jump, just beat faster with the heat of the kiss. When they stood back up she laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He just laughed and led her the rest of the way into the bright room filled with color and people who cared for them. As they toasted the impending nuptials, Anne realized that she had been wrong. She hadn’t been happy with all the worry and stress that had been weighing her down since she had learned how to walk. Her fears had been dragging at her heart and mind for so long she had stopped noticing them until they melted away in light of these wonderful people. She never would have expected to be free of her demons. They were supposed to dog her steps for the rest of her days, taunting her. But now that they were gone, she swore to herself that she would hold on to this newfound happiness, and the man who had helped her bring those demons to heel, for the rest of her days.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding and a new beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure I would continue this fic but I can say with the utmost honesty that every single comment and kudo has prompted me to do so. I cannot possibly say just how much happiness each and every one of you has brought me since I pressed the 'publish' button. Thank you all so much for your support and being your amazing selves. I hope this chapter brings you as much happiness as the last <3
> 
> Enjoy!

WD regretted ever complaining to Barnum about not wearing a monkey suit to meet Queen Victoria. It was stiff and tight and the bowtie  _ itched _ . Why would anyone actually choose to wear such a ridiculous get up?

“Because that’s what rich people do,” Philip murmured next to him, chuckling as WD fidgeted with the bowtie again.

“Stop reading my mind. It’s creepy,” WD admonished, a blush rising on his cheeks as Philip laughed.

“You were muttering again,” his brother-in-law-to-be told him. WD decided not to dignify that with a response. Instead, he looked out onto the group of people who were just taking their seats in front of the makeshift altar. 

Month of preparations had gone into this day. Everyone had worked overtime to transform the circus tent into a snow white wonderland in the middle of summer. Anne and Mrs. Carlyle and Lettie had spent hours pouring over cloth swatches and wedding catalogs. Philip had been expelled from the planning meetings after he suggested that they do everything up in purple to match Anne’s circus costume. He may be a fantastic showman but a wedding planner he was not. Anne soothed his ruffled feelings with plenty of kisses… and she gave him control of the musicians. He went to work on the set list with a vigor that would have made her nervous if WD hadn’t agreed to assist, as it was in line with his Best Man duties.

Now that the big day had finally arrived, everyone was bursting with excitement. 

“You ready for this?” WD asked, nervous though he wasn’t sure why. He glanced at Philip and was stunned to see a beatific smile on the other man’s face.

“Absolutely,” Philip replied dreamly. WD’s chuckle was covered by the first chord of the entry song they had picked after much discussion. He turned on his heel, immediately sobering as the wedding party started to file down the aisle. 

Everyone looked stunning in their wedding clothes. Every stitch of clothing had been specially made for the each and every guest in attendance. Creamy linens, peplums, and muslims created a swathed sea of alabaster clad bodies. It had all been paid for by the Barnum’s and the Carlyles. When Philip had quietly mentioned to them that some of the invitees were considering not attending, the two families were shocked. Some of the circus folk had been worried that they wouldn’t fit in with the dress code. Without a moment’s hesitation, the families had banded together to make sure everyone was dressed to the nines.

As soon as Lettie, the maid of honor escorted by Charles, had taken her place on the altar, WD heard his cue from the music. He walked down the steps and up the aisle to meet his sister at the last pew. She was luminescent in ethereal white silk and hair decorated with baby’s breath. Her eyes were red as she smile up at him. It made his heart ache.

“You look like mom,” he whispered. She choked on a little sob.

“You look like dad,” she whispered back. Without another word, they turn with a synchronicity born from years of anticipating the other’s next move. The first notes of the wedding march resounded from the organ. They walked down the aisle, arm in arm, in perfect tandem with the music that had been sped up a little more than could be considered ‘traditional’.

After a final hug and whispered reassurance, WD mounted the steps of the altar. He resumed his place beside Philip while Anne mounted the steps on her own to face her groom. 

WD wasn’t sure what the symbolic implications of his roles in this wedding were but he decided he just didn’t care. Anne was happy. Philip was happy. Barnum was crying like a baby while Charity hushed him with a handkerchief. The Carlyles were beaming with tears running down their faces. And the young minister who had agreed to marry them despite the law looked positively jubilant.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony.” the man announced, bouncing ever so slightly on his heels as he beamed at the couple and congregation. From the way Anne’s eyes danced, WD could tell she was holding back laughter with all of her might. He looked away from her so he wouldn’t burst out laughing as well.

Gazing out over the crowd of colorful people in creamy clothing, one person stood out to him more than any other. Whitney sat next to her sister in the middle row. She was the only person in the crowd who was some shade of white. She had argued that she wore white all the time and she wanted to be the spot of color in the crowd for once. Her white hair was as voluminous as ever but he could tell she had tried to tame it with combs and products into something more refined. WD found himself missing her wild halo. She was clutching a lavender handkerchief that matched her simple lavender sundress. It was embroidered with a pattern he couldn’t quite pic out but he thought it might be gold thread from the shine.

WD had to stop himself from shaking his head as he returned his attention the couple in front of him. This was their day. He didn’t need to spend it pining over someone… even someone as lovely as Whitney.

 

***

 

“Are you already done dancing?” Callie asked as she dropped onto the seat next to her sister. Whitney looked up at her from her champagne glass and shrugged.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You  _ love _ to dance. Love it. You haven’t stopped dancing since you learned how to walk,” Callie admonished as she brushed a strand of hair from her face and rolled her eyes. “So why, when you have this great big dance floor and actual music, are you not out there?”

“I just-” Whitney started to lie but movement caught her eye and she glanced over to the dance floor.

“Oh,” Callie said softly, following her twin’s gaze. “You have to get over him, you know?”

“I just… can’t. I don’t know why but I can’t,” Whitney admitted as she watched WD spin yet another lovely woman around the dance floor. Another woman who looked like him.

“Whitney, you have been mooning over him since day one. Why don’t you look at someone else for once?” Callie tried. Whitney just rolled her eyes and downed her glass. 

“I have. It doesn’t work,” she said, short and harsh as she slammed down the glass. The stem cracked slightly and she sighed. “I need some air.”

Without waiting for her sister’s ever present opinion, Whitney rose from the table and made her way to the tent’s exit. She was just pulling out a cigarette from her case when she heard the flap open behind her. Spinning on her heel with a heated rebuttal on her tongue, she found herself face to face with someone who was definitely  _ not _ her sister.

“Hey, you all right?” WD asked, his voice as kind and gentle as always. For a moment, Whitney just stared at him, her heart pounding so hard in her chest that she felt a little light headed. She blinked and pulled herself together with a force of will.

“Yeah, just a little warm. Are you enjoying the party?” she asked, turning to search for her lighter and an excuse not to look at him. 

“Here,” he said and a flickering flame came into her field of vision. Sighing internally, she turned back to him.

“Thanks.” she leaned over and lit the end of the cigarette before steeling herself to look him in the eye once more.

“You’re welcome. And yes, it’s a nice party. The Carlyle’s sure do know how to throw a shindig.” WD laughed and leaned against one of the solid posts supporting the tent. Whitney nodded noncommittally and blew out a billow of smoke. “What about you? You haven’t been dancing much.”

“Just don’t feel like it today,” she said, trying to calm her thundering heart. He noticed she wasn’t dancing?

“You  _ always _ feel like dancing,” WD chuckled. She glared at him a but it was a hard to look annoyed when he looked so amused.

“I don’t  _ always _ feel like dancing. Sometimes I feel like drinking. Or smoking.” she said flippantly, praying that this conversation would end soon. She was going to slip if this went on too much longer.

“Would it be different if someone asked you to dance?” he asked and she choked on her cigarette. He waited for her coughing fit to pass, patting her soothing on the back until she could look up at him with watering eyes.

“What?”

“Would you feel like dancing if someone asked you to dance?” he said, a little quieter, as if he didn’t mean to say anything in the first place but he couldn’t hold himself back.

“I- maybe. Why?” she stuttered, brain racing as she tried to decipher the look on his face. Part confusion, part determination, and part… fear?

“Whitney, I have danced with almost every woman in that tent tonight,” he said, apparently coming to a decision. “But I haven’t danced with the only woman I want to dance with. The most beautiful, most talented dancer and person I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. But I want to change that.”

He wavered for a second as she stared at him, her jaw sagging open just a touch. Which was, apparently, the only boost he needed to hold out his hand to her.

“Whitney Coleman, may I have this dance?” he asked. 

For a moment, Whitney was pretty sure she was dreaming. She had to be dreaming. What the hell was in that champagne? Finally, she managed to squeak,

“Me?”

“You. Always, you.” he replied, pupils narrowing a bit as his hand stayed suspended in midair. She knew that look. That was the fear of rejection she saw in his eyes. Suddenly, like turning off a light switch, she closed off the part of her mind that was constantly worrying. Worrying about how she looked, how she dressed, how she acted. Because this beautiful man had called her ‘beautiful’ too. 

“I’d love to dance with you,” she breathed, taking his hand delicately. The grin that nearly split his face put an end to the rest of her doubts. This wasn’t a joke, not a prank. Just… a man asking a woman to dance.

***

WD’s heart was thundering in his ears as he led Whitney onto the dancefloor. As soon as Michael, the lead of the band, saw them, he struck up a jaunty tune that made Whitney’s eyes flash.

“Oh, it’s the Shota!!!” she exclaimed and suddenly she was the one pulling him onto the floor. Sending a wink to Michael, WD let himself be dragged to the center of the floor. From seemingly nowhere, Whitney produced a featherlight lavender scarf and raised it above her head. Before he could think of what a lovely picture she made, the music picked up and they were dancing. Spinning and jumping, moving around the dance floor in an almost wild tornado of hands and feet, while the rest of the guest formed a circle to watch. 

In no time he was out of breath but he couldn’t bring himself to care. This wasn’t the practiced steps he had learned from his friends in the circus....just in case. Like with everything else, Whitney had her own wild flare to add to the dance. He followed her lead, letting her spin free until she swung too close to the people around them and then he would pull her back. 

From the sidelines, the crowd watched in amazement. Lettie, Anne, and Callie couldn’t contain their glee as they drank in the drama. They rejoiced over the fact that these two had finally ceded their endless pining. It was tiring to lend a friendly ear only to then be told ‘don’t tell  _ anyone _ ’.

***

Whitney had never felt so alive in her life. After joining the circus, she had been sure that there was no greater thrill than performing. To be in front of a tent full of people surrounded by fire, wild animals, and people as strange as her was surely as wonderful as life could be. The danger, the applause, the excitement. There had never been anything to compare it to. 

Dancing with WD made the thrill of performing feel like a tiny star shining next to a blazing sun. He was warm and solid yet didn’t hold her back. He kept her safe and but still let her chart her own path as they moved across the shiny wooden surface. She knew that if she dipped he would catch her and lift her high into the air. The perfect harmony of their movements was both a thrill and a slow bleed of contentment throughout her body. Total ease married with warmth from the purest fire flickering just beneath her solar plexus.

If this was love, she never wanted to fall out of it.

All too soon the music changed from a wild shota to a soothing waltz. Breathing hard, the two dancers came together, chest to chest. Their eyes sparked with the same euphoric fire and the crowd roared with applause.

“Sounds like a full house,” WD murmured. Whitney couldn’t help but laugh as she buried her face in his jacket. He pulled her close and they began to sway. As other dancers stepped onto the floor, twirling around them, Whitney gathered her courage to look up at him.

“What you said outside…” she trailed off before setting her jaw and continuing. “Did you mean it?”

“Every. Damn. Word.” he told her. She sighed.

“WD, I’ve been in love with you since the first time I saw you at the circus,” she admitted. His eyebrows rose up as high as they could go at her words.

“I’ve loved you since the first time I heard you say the word ‘fuck’...” he replied without missing a beat. She burst out laughing, remembering that moment all too well. She had been backstage, attempting to organize the new shipment of hula hoops they had just gotten in. The whole mess had fallen over just as she set the last one on the rack. She had been so furious that a litany of curses had fallen from her mouth without any attempt at stemming them. Upon hearing the sound of someone laughing behind her, she had turned, seen him standing there, and fled without another word.

“Oh my, that was mortifying! Wait you…” she took a moment to process that. Before she could say anything, Anne climbed up on a chair and tapped her glass with a fork.

“It’s time to throw the bouquet!” she announced gleefully. WD glared up at her as the music died. She smirked at him and shrugged. Reluctantly, he let Whitney go as she join the crowd of women in front of Anne. She reached up, graceful even in that small movement.

Without any fanfare, Anne spun counted to three, and tossed the bouquet back over her head. Like the parting of the red sea, every woman but Whitney scattered, leaving her to catch the bundle of flowers easily. The stunned look on her face as she looked around brought a round of cheers and applause from the entire tent. Anne whirled back around, giggling madly when she saw their plan had worked.

***

WD was so distracted by this sudden turn of events he didn’t see Philip come up beside him.

“Hey WD,” Philip asked, laughter in his eyes when his best man couldn’t even spare a glance for him in favor of watching Whitney giggle and twirl with the bouquet in her hands. “Yeah, okay… THINK FAST!”

WD didn’t think, he just reached up and snatched whatever Philip had just thrown at him out of midair. It was the garter. 

“I don’t know if I should be annoyed or impressed,” he said after a moment. Philip just laughed and clapped him on the back. 

“We were doing that whether you two had pulled your heads out of your asses or not. Just so you know,” Philip told him with a chuckle before striding over to dip Anne into a deep kiss. WD looked up from the garter in his hand to find Whitney staring at him from across the room, her face half hidden behind the bouquet.

“Well… what do you think?” he asked, taking a few steps towards her. She shrugged.

“I’m not like everyone else…” she said, matter of fact. “I always stand out in a crowd. People always stare.”

“I don’t mind standing out as long as I’m standing with you,” he told her. She grinned, took the last two steps to bring them right in front of each other, and pulled him down by his lapels to kiss him full on the mouth.

Through the silence that followed, one voice rang out.

“Does this mean I get to officiate another integrated wedding?!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, this chapter wasn't all about Anne and Philip. SURPRISE! Sorry, to all you diehard shippers who were looking for a lil more Philip/Anne centric fluff. While I still love them, I wanted to focus on more of the relationships that I could easily see happening in this verse. So I hope, like me, you love the idea of WD not being all on his lonesome anymore. And the next chapter (yes, I'm already thinking about/working on the next chapter) will follow the same sort of trend. Any ideas/guesses who is next?!

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been rolling around in my mind since I saw the movie and I just couldn't let it go. Let me know what you think!


End file.
